Masquerade (15 page)

The first thing Anna did after she left the sitting room was dash upstairs to the fifth floor. The coin purse felt heavy in her pocket and she pressed her hand against it to stop the coins from clinking as she moved. If only she could do something to quiet the loud beating of her heart, which to her ears sounded like the bells of the campanile that tolled the day away.

If she were a better person, she would not have accepted Signor Boccassio’s gift. It had not been her idea to deceive him, but she had taken part in Veronica’s scheme, whatever it was, and now she also had his money. The only thing that stopped her from turning around and returning it to him was her loyalty to Veronica and the fear of crossing of her. Since there was no going back, Anna decided that she would use the money for good. She hadn’t counted it yet, but it felt like it might be enough to help her sister.

Anna made it to her bedroom door without being seen by Maria or anyone else. Even with the promise that the money brought, Anna spirits sank the moment she entered the room. As always, Emilia lay in bed as motionless as a puppet with its strings cut.

Closing the door, Anna went to sit on the edge of the bed. ‘You will not believe what has happened,’ she said, gently shaking her sister’s shoulder. She told Emilia the whole story, only stopping to pull the coin purse dramatically from her pocket. It was like she was performing all the roles of a play for Emilia, in an attempt to ignite a spark of hope.

Finally, Anna came to counting the money. In truth, she had put off this moment in fear that it contained not nearly as much money as she expected. She was happily surprised. ‘Ten ducats, Emilia! I’ll use it all to help you get better,’ said Anna, kissing Emilia’s forehead. ‘I’ll go see a doctor tomorrow, I promise.’

And then, for the first time in many weeks, Anna sang.

The following afternoon, Anna found an excuse to leave the palazzo. It was Veronica who gave her the excuse, actually. She had asked Anna to go to the market and buy her more ink, even though she still had three full pots sitting on her desk.

Most people thought Veronica was cold and unpleasant but Anna often glimpsed a side of her that was warm and considerate. Quite often, she sent Anna on false errands to allow her to get out of the palazzo. Anna assumed that this time Veronica thought she would buy herself something nice with Signor Boccassio’s gift. How she longed to buy herself a sweet perfume or small jewelled box, but she had made her sister a promise.

Anna walked to the Rialto where she found an idle gondolier waiting for business. ‘I need to find an honest and discreet doctor. Do you know of one?’ she asked him.

‘Isaac Stein in the Gheto Novo, Signorina,’ replied the gondolier. ‘My sister suffered from nosebleeds for years until she visited Signor Stein and he cleared her right up.’

‘Please take me there.’ Anna paid the gondolier and climbed aboard. The gondola glided down the Canal Grande as far as San Marcuola, where it turned down a canal.

A few minutes later, the gondola stopped alongside the water steps at the foot of Ponte de Gheto Novo. Anna had been to the Gheto Novo on a few occasions, mostly as a child when her father had often pawned their clothing and rags there. It was not just a place the poor frequented, though. Angelique and Veronica often saw plays there during the day.

The gondolier assisted Anna in disembarking. ‘You’ll find Signor Stein’s office in the sotoportego,’ he said, pointing to a building straight ahead. ‘Shall I wait for you?’

Anna nodded and stepped out into the large oddly shaped campo. What struck Anna as most odd was the height of the buildings; some were as high as nine storeys. Ca’ Contarini was five storeys high; so much space for so few people. But these buildings, with the shops of moneylenders, second-hand dealers and pawnbrokers on the ground floor and residences above, were home to so many people. And though taller, the buildings had none of the opulence of the palazzi on the Canal Grande. They were very plain, built mostly of wood and unadorned white Istrian stone.

Anna found the doctor’s office without difficultly and knocked on the door. For a moment there was no answer and Anna feared she had wasted her time. Just as she was about to turn away, the door was opened to reveal a girl about her age. She had hair as black as ebony and skin as white as ivory.

‘Buongiorno,’ said Anna. ‘I’m here to see Signor Stein about a medical concern. Is he available?’

‘Come in,’ said the girl. She indicated for Anna to take a seat in front of a walnut table. ‘Wait here.’

Anna sat down and folded her hands in her lap. The interior of the office was nicer than the outside suggested. The floor was covered with a thick rug and a large painting of the countryside hung on the wall behind the table. Anna was studying the small figure in the painting when a bearded man appeared through a doorway. He wore a small yellow cap on his head that was required of all Jews by Venetian law.

‘How can I assist you, Signorina?’ he said, taking a seat.

‘I need you to call upon my sister. She is very ill.’

The doctor picked up a quill and drew a piece of paper to him. ‘What is the nature of her condition?’

‘She will not get out of bed. She hardly speaks. She hardly eats.’

The doctor paused thoughtfully and dipped his quill in the inkpot. ‘Will not or cannot get out of bed?’

‘I think she lacks the will.’

‘Does she have any other symptoms of illness or infection? Fever? Rash? Pain?’

‘No, nothing. I gave her Teriaca, but it did not help.’

‘How long has this been going on?

Anna thought for a moment, remembering the day her sister had come to her. ‘Over a month, as far as I know, maybe longer.’

‘Does she experience hallucinations?’

Anna shook her head.

‘Where is your sister now?’

‘In the servants quarters of one of the palazzi of the Canal Grande. I cannot say which one. I am keeping her there without the knowledge of my master. I will need you to attend her at night in secret, when the rest of the household is asleep or out.’

The doctor gave her an apologetic look. ‘I would like to help, but the ghetto’s gates are locked at night. We are not permitted to leave, as you would probably know. Even if there was a way, I cannot take the risk. I have a family to provide for. You’ve already met my eldest daughter.’

‘Is there anything you can do?’ said Anna, not attempting to hide the desperation in her voice.

‘Without seeing her, I believe she has vapours, a condition of low spirits caused by vapours from the uterus, which affect the brain. There is a root from China said to cure the condition. I can send you to a pharmacist who can acquire it, but is very expensive and difficult to procure.’

‘How expensive?’

‘One hundred ducats.’

Anna buried her face in her hands. ‘I don’t have that amount of money.’

‘Perhaps you could pawn some of your belongings.’

Anna shook her head meekly. ‘It wouldn’t be nearly enough.’

‘Could you not ask your master for assistance?’

Anna shook her head again.

‘Mi dispiace, I wish there was something I could do. Sometimes these conditions cure themselves. Make sure she gets plenty of sunlight and try to get her moving so the blood can flow.’

‘I will not take up any more of your time,’ said Anna, rising to her feet. ‘How much do you require for this consultation?’ she said, withdrawing her coin purse.

The doctor reached out and closed her fingers around the coin purse. ‘Pay me nothing. If you find enough money for the medicine, come and see me again.’

‘Grazie, Signor,’ said Anna tiredly. She pulled her veil back over her face and went to step out the door.

‘You would be best to keep your sister’s condition a secret, especially should she begin hallucinating,’ said the doctor. ‘Homes for the mentally ill are hellish places.’

When in the mountains, sleep had come easily to Orelia. She would simply have to close her eyes and sleep would follow. But that had all changed since arriving in this watery city.

Orelia lay in bed wide-awake, wondering why sleep had decided to elude her, yet again. It wasn’t the bed, for it was the most comfortable thing she had ever laid upon. It wasn’t the nightmares filled with flames, for you had to be asleep for those to come. And it wasn’t the presence of her mother she felt in the room, as she found that somewhat comforting.

Idle days, nights at the theatre, endless balls and banquets had left her simply not tired. It was as though Venice was a will-o-wisp that had swept her up and not fully put her back down. Was this what her mother’s life had been like? Had she been like Angelique, living only for the next masquerade ball? Had she been like Veronica, defying social expectations? Or had her mother been like herself, troubled by a man?

Reaching her hand beneath her pillow, Orelia pulled out the glass flower her mother had given her on her thirteenth birthday. She held it up, catching the moonlight in the red glass streaked with orange, hoping it would give her answers. But it was just as mysterious as her mother.

With a sigh, Orelia placed the flower back beneath her pillow and rolled over, untwisting her feet from the tangled coverlet. She closed her eyes, but instead of blackness, she saw Bastian’s face. He had been on her mind since the banquet thrown in her honour over a week ago. He was so infuriating with his sure smile and arrogant attitude. Most infuriating of all was the way he had captured Orelia in his orbit. Even when she wanted to be far away from him, she felt like she could not pull herself free.

Orelia beat the feather pillow with her fist. Sleep was now an impossibility. She lay on her back, staring up at the scene of cherubs on the ceiling, when she heard the sound of something hitting the window. Her heart skipped a beat.

When the sound came again, she jolted upright. Her eyes went straight to the row of long windows on the wall facing the Canal Grande. The third time the sound came, she saw something small and dark bounce off one window.

With her heart beating wildly, Orelia stood and tiptoed across her bedroom. The floor was cold on her bare feet. When she reached the windows, she peered through the glass, but could not see a thing. Hesitantly, she opened the door that led onto the balcony and stepped out into the night.

She had barely taken more than two steps when her foot connected with a small stone. Picking it up, she looked over the balustrade at the Canal Grande and saw a gondola, illuminated by a lantern, floating on the dark water just outside the palazzo.

The first thing she noticed about the man standing in the gondola, even from four storeys above, was his sure smile. Orelia groaned.

‘About time,’ Bastian called, lowering the arm he had raised above his head.

‘Go away,’ hissed Orelia.

‘Come down, my bella.’

Orelia waved her hands. ‘Be quiet.’

Bastian laughed. ‘You know you want to come down.’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘If you do not come down, I shall call your name loudly until every last person on the Canal Grande is awake,’ said Bastian.

‘I cannot come down . . . because I’m not properly dressed,’ said Orelia, folding her arms across her body, suddenly aware that she was only wearing a white cotton chemise.

‘So get dressed, or can you not dress without your lady’s maid?’

Orelia hurled the stone at Bastian. It landed well away from the gondola with a pitiful splash. ‘You are so infuriating!’ she cried, spinning around and walking back inside her room.

She stood for a moment, hands on hips, undecided as to whether to go back to bed or meet with Bastian. There was no choice really, unless she wanted him to wake the entire household.

In the light of the moon, she pulled on a loose blue dress that she had brought with her to Venice. It looked like a peasant’s dress compared to the gowns Signor Memo had made for her, but she did not care. She covered the dress with a cloak and slipped on a pair of satin slippers with a low heel, the most sensible of the shoes she had acquired.

Easing her bedroom door open, Orelia crept into the portego. Even though there was no one around, her stomach twisted with worry. How would she explain herself if someone found her sneaking out in the middle of the night?

When Orelia arrived at the water entrance, Bastian had already drawn the gondola up to the water steps, as if he knew for certain that she would come. He smiled at her as she approached.

‘Don’t be so happy with yourself,’ she said. ‘This ends tonight. You must not see me again.’

‘Come with me and
if
you still feel that way by the time I return you safely home, I give you my word that I will leave you alone.’

Orelia narrowed her eyes. ‘How do I know I can trust you?’

‘You don’t; that’s why it’s called trust,’ he replied, reaching out a hand to help her into the gondola.

After a moment of hesitation, she took his hand and stepped over the dark gap into the gondola. The motion of the rocking sent her off balance and she fell forward onto Bastian. He stayed steady and upright. Orelia immediately drew herself away, her eyes wide and vulnerable.

‘That is a move
I
would play,’ said Bastian with a wink. ‘Maybe we are not as unlike as you think.’

Since the gondola had no felze, Orelia settled herself onto the seat. ‘You and I are nothing alike,’ she said. ‘Now let’s get this over with so I can rid you from my life for good.’

‘You sure know how to charm a man.’

Bastian brushed past Orelia to get to the stern. A shiver ran through her body, which she tried with all her power to hide. She hazarded a glance over her shoulder and saw Bastian take a hold of the oar. A moment later the gondola began to glide away from Ca’ Contarini.

Orelia turned back around. She did not want to think about the way Bastian’s muscular arms moved under his white shirt or how expertly he steered the gondola, so she asked, ‘How did you know which room is mine?’

‘I never reveal my secrets,’ he answered.

‘Where are we going?’

‘That’s another secret.’

Orelia sighed and settled back into her seat. She should have been anxious or afraid. It was dark and no one knew where she was. She didn’t even know where she was, but for the first time since arriving in Venice she felt strangely calm.

They travelled across the Canal Grande, occasionally passing another gondola with a proper gondolier in his red scarf ferrying noisy revellers or quiet individuals hidden in the felze. They came to another canal several times wider than the Canal Grande. ‘Where are we?’ asked Orelia.

‘This is the Canale della Giudecca, and that,’ said Bastian, pointing to the island they were approaching, ‘is the island of Giudecca.’ He drew the gondola close to the fondamenta until they came to a complete stop. ‘We’ll have to walk the rest of the way, but it’s not far.’

Stepping out of the gondola onto the water steps, Orelia took great care not to let herself be thrown off balance again into Bastian’s waiting arms. She waited while he tied up the gondola and collected the lantern. She noticed that they were in front of a white church with a large dome and several smaller ones. It was impossible for her to make out any more detail in the dark. She cast her gaze further. This island was dark, silent and deserted. A shiver passed over her. The gentle ebbing of the gondola had lulled her into a false sense of security and even delight. Now, with her feet back on land, she realised how foolish she was to have agreed to go on this escapade.

Bastian came to stand at her side. ‘Are you cold?’

Orelia shook her head.

‘This way,’ he said, taking her small hand in his.

After they turned off the fondamenta, Orelia lost track of the turns they made. She was now completely at the mercy of Bastian. A minute or so later, he stopped in front of a high grey wall. ‘I told you it wasn’t far.’

Set into the wall was a wooden door crossed with lengths of iron. Bastian took a key from his pocket and pushed it into the lock. With a reluctant creak, the key turned. He pushed on the door and it opened enough for a person to squeeze through sideways.

‘That’s as far as it opens. After you,’ he said, moving aside.

Orelia stepped back instead. ‘How do I know you won’t lock me in the moment I step inside?’

Bastian laughed and shook his head. ‘Do you mistrust everyone or just me? Actually, don’t answer that. Here, take this.’ He passed the brass key to Orelia and then squeezed through the doorway, taking the lantern with him. Orelia hurried after him, pushing the key into her pocket.

The moment she emerged on the other side of the door, she froze. They were in a garden. Vines twisted up the wall, hiding the grey bricks. Small trees in perfect lines disappeared into the darkness. Closed flower buds dotted small bushes and shrubs, like kisses. Her eyes did not know where to settle; there was too much to marvel at.

Bastian stood ahead of her holding the lantern like a heavenly guide. He turned and started walking; taking the golden light with him so that Orelia’s only option was to follow. They weaved through the garden, following a path of stone past shrubs of larch and laurel, beds of verbena, and fruits trees with orange orbs hanging from branches.

Orelia would take a few steps before stopping to examine a flower or inhale its sweet scent. Bastian took her hand again. ‘Come on, there’s something else I want to show you.’

They came to the other side of the garden where there was a small, grassed area, behind which a wall rose into the darkness. A circular fountain adorned with statues of mythical water beasts sat in one corner, while in the other corner stood a cypress tree.

Orelia turned to admire the tree, when she noticed that hanging from its branches were birdcages. The silver wire of the cages shone in the moonlight. Within each cage was a canary like a ray of sunlight left behind to light the night. Her hand flew to her mouth. There were more cages than she could count. ‘You bought all these from the market?’

‘Every last one.’

‘Why?’ said Orelia, drawing her eyes away from the birds. She looked intensely at Bastian. It would be easy to fall for his messy blond hair and soft blue eyes.

‘So we could set the birds free, of course.’ He hung the lantern from a branch and took a few steps to the nearest cage. He whistled to the small canary and it whistled back. Then Bastian opened the door of the cage.

It took the canary a few moments to find the opening, but when it did it spread its wings and took flight. Orelia laughed joyfully and watched the flight of the bird with a wide smile.

‘Your turn,’ Bastian said, when the canary was out of sight.

Orelia looked from cage to cage, and found herself drawn to a small canary that sat quietly on its perch. She held the sides of the cage with both hands and stared into the bird’s small dark eyes. Then she opened the cage door. The canary looked at the window to freedom and did not move. Orelia could sympathise; sometimes even a cage can seem quite comfortable when compared to the unknown. She whistled, coaxing the canary bit by bit to the door, until eventually it extended its wings and took flight.

Moving quickly from cage to cage, Orelia and Bastian opened hatches and dodged the beating yellow wings ascending into the night sky. When the last cage door was open, they stood back, holding hands, and watched the canaries fly away until they were no bigger than the stars.